


Hands

by unrestricted_obsessions



Series: When All Else Fades, Will You Return to Me? [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, M/M, Memories, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestricted_obsessions/pseuds/unrestricted_obsessions
Summary: Bilbo remembers his hands.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: When All Else Fades, Will You Return to Me? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054544
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715661) by [AngelynMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelynMoon/pseuds/AngelynMoon). 



> Here we go! Hope you enjoy the series! This part is the one most heavily inspired by AngelynMoon's lovely short story (as clear from the title) so I heartily recommend you check that out. As always, feedback/constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged.

Hands are of course a vital function in life, especially in the Shire. They get caked in mud from gardening, or covered in flour from cooking and baking, but they are appreciated. Most hobbit hands are fragile, soft and unmarked from a life of comfort. Bilbo's however, have become cracked, coarse and dry (even retaining a few scars) as reminder of his quest, but as he settles back in to Hobbiton, they have begun to heal and adjust to a calm life once again.

Bilbo hates it, and sometimes washes his hands in abundance or goes out in the cold, early dawns without gloves to keep them in the state of a burglar's. Maybe it was one of the more subtle signs in being unable to let go of his adventure, undoubtedly an unhealthy habit both for his hands and his own metal health. It was only a last ditch attempt in trying to relive it all, instead of mere reminiscing.

He remembers Thorin's hands distinctly. At first they had seemed harsh and callous, unforgiving and far too enamoured to materials rather than people. Then he had realised that they were only a sign of his hard work. Through all the scars, lumps and filth on hands, you could read a person's life. Thorin's had shown his dedication to his people and the responsibilities he fulfilled in their favour. He could see all of the hardships that that dwarf had faced. All of which he had prevailed over. 

Most surprisingly was that in spite of the roughness of his skin, he had proved to be the most gentle, considerate person Bilbo had ever met. Every touch was soft and hesitant, leaving the burglar's stomach in a whirl and his mind in an oddly enchanting confusion. It was these moments that the supposed 'Saviour of Erebor' treasured, but they were also the very same that tortured him the most.

—

Beorn's house was a delight, or at the very least a great relief from the horrible amount of discomfort and stress as of late. The Company's hobbit felt no need in hiding his joy at the beautiful surroundings they had found themselves in; he spent much of his time in content privacy in the garden. He had just discovered a promising little acorn and pocketed it, determined to one day plant it in his home's garden. Hopefully the skinchanger wouldn't mind. Either way, he didn't truly need to know.

He had just began to relax, the pleasant tingle of the sun heating his face, when a... _discreet_ noise startled him out of bliss. Truly, dwarves could most likely rival oliphaunts in terms of noise levels (not that Bilbo would know, having never seen or heard an oliphaunt before, but he was certain it would be a safe bet). Only slightly opening one eye, he saw that it was Thorin who had sat opposite him, looking more than a little awkward as he glanced around, his hand idly wandering through the grass. He glanced back to the hobbit as if he had felt the observant gaze upon him, and Bilbo sat up straight, maintaining the cautious eye-contact

"Hullo," he offered. "Can I help you with something?"

He of course knew that the leader of their Company no longer thought so little of him, but it was still an unusual thought to have Thorin actively seek him out.

"I... was actually hoping you might tell me about Shire culture."

In truth, Bilbo didn't know where to start.

"Well, it- I don't know what you would like to hear. We hobbits are very social creatures, and to describe all of our interactions, festivities, culture and traditions would take far longer than I am sure you're willing to listen to."

Thorin seemed almost offended at the assumption of his eagerness, but instead chose to focus on the question itself.

"What of your relationship to nature? I know you are gardeners and generally connected to the earth, but is there any further information in that regard?"

Bilbo smiled; it was an excellent question, one that could undoubtedly get him talking for hours, but he forced himself to keep it simple.

"It is true that we value nature, but whereas dwarves were created by Aulë, and therefore share his love of carving stone and gems, we in turn were created by Yavanna, Valar of the trees. Nature is dearly important to us, and it is embedded so heavily into our lives that without it, every defining feature that makes a hobbit simply wouldn't be. We use flowers, for example, in almost every occasion: birthdays, courtships, weddings, funerals, festivals. Every flower has a meaning; we communicate with them, in a way."

The genuine fascination on Thorin's features warmed Bilbo's heart. That he was so purely interested in such small matters meant... everything, really. They remained silent for a few moments, until the King (and it felt odd calling him that) turned and indicated to a lonely eschscholzia. Knowing its durability and taking into account its random positioning and seclusion within the garden, it must have been wild and alltogether unnoticed or unplanned by Beorn.

"So if all flowers have a meaning, what does this one symbolize?"

Bilbo shifted over, so that the little orange bud was all that sat between the two.

"It usually means peace and occasionally contentment in the Shire. Technically, it is also associated with sleep, but that definition isn't really used often."

He chuckled, "It seems I chose the right flower, however accidental." The hobbit grinned at their comfort with one another. It was shockingly enjoyable and intimate.

As they once again fell into tranquility, the daisies clumped together beside the tulips caught Bilbo's eye, and he plucked them from the ground, nudging the dwarf beside him to show the chain he was making. Soon enough, Thorin was gathering some of his own daisies and began to create his own similar chain. Yet again, he astounded his burglar with the actions he took, so very delicate with the flowers, resembling the exact innocence they were known to portray. It was the first time Bilbo had noticed his hands, for how rough they seemed despite how gentle they truly were. More and more they seemed to reflect Thorin's own character.

Quite astonishingly quickly, said dwarf finished his chain, connecting it into a circle with one final observant glance to the hobbit, before presenting it and placing it oh so gingerly atop his friend's head. In that moment, they were awfully oblivious to the future, ignoring the yellow pollen within the daisies symbolizing corruption, but they were happy.

—

 _How silly of me,_ Bilbo thought, tears beggining to form a sheen over his eyes, _that I might allow myself to fall into such_ _helplessness._

For you see, ever since that simple, idealistic morning in Beorn's garden, the cheerful hobbit fell horridly, irrevocably in love, placing his fate and his heart completely in control of the object of his affections. The Dwarven King may have had careful hands, but he was all too reckless with emotions, and such a love was doomed to end in heartbreak for the burglar, whether from Thorin, or the loss of him.


End file.
